Bite Me
by Joby87
Summary: Sam gets himself into another spot of trouble, nearly costing him his life. And just where in the Hell is Dean? Limpage! Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi Guys! This is a new one I've conjured over the span of the last few weeks. It's got a new style and rapid development. Just an excuse for, you know, some cruel and unusual limpage; before I get back to my other story.**

**LimpSam. I know right, what else is new? Nope, not making any money off this, nor do I own the Supernatural storyline and characters. Just messing with the boys again! This is a two-shot. The next chapter will be up shortly! Enjoy!**

**Part One: A Whole Round of Suckers**

The timing was perfect.

In the dark.

In isolation.

It was exactly what they liked. It was exactly how they _preyed._

It was their stench he caught first. Deep in the bowels of Louisiana surrounded by various swamps, there was a whole assortment of smells. But that particular smell he could distinguish anywhere. The offensive odor of decayed flesh permeated his senses, alerting him to their presence. The sound of running feet drew his attention to the front, then to the back, then all around.

Six or seven of them formed an arc around him, a few pacing back and forth, growling and licking their lips. Round animalistic eyes gleamed for the kill with hands and arms bent, fingers flexed, and scores of teeth glittering in the moonlight. Rapacious and feral. These things were liked starved lions, seemingly having hardly eaten in decades.

Dark liquid the color of tar dripped lazily off the tip of his machete, two of these foul beasts slain by his hand. Insensible rage flooded through his veins, taking complete control. He was an animal too, a monster. Bloodthirsty. Survival-driven. He wouldn't stop until the last of these bloodsuckers saw the gleam of his blade.

Sam watched and listened, his eyes darting at every possible move. The half-starved vampires shook their heads like ravenous pitbulls. They were quick: much too quick to his understanding. The foul pack must have been planning this from the get-go. If he hadn't been at the trunk with it open and a machete on hand, no doubt he'd have been easy pickings. Preparing for what would be a fight to the death, he stood at the ready.

One of them, a blonde female, advanced. He swung and she swiftly evaded the curt slice.

Another ran forward.

Sam kicked at the vamp's chest knocking it off its feet, the force causing the monster to slide along the gravel. Three more suddenly jumped up. Sam stepped to the side and sliced the blade through the air, creating a large red cut on one of the pale faces. Jumping back, he continued to make slicing movements, the vampires backing away farther from each stroke. Sam didn't know if this was for prey. He didn't know if this was for revenge. One thing was for sure. He was in for one helluva fight.

The vamp's circled him, drawing him away from the safety of the Impala, more out in the open. Confusion pounded into Sam's head like a sledgehammer into a long railway spike. Was this another one of Lucifer's brigade? It didn't seem like this could be part of the fallen angel's endgame. The entity had said himself he would never hurt his intended vessel. So what was this? A ploy? A trick to bring him hither? Or a desperate food-on-the-run feeding game?

Either way, he was outnumbered several to one.

Behind him, one came up and in a quick flash took a grand bite. Sam bit his tongue to keep from screaming in anguish. Whirling around, the vamp's head went skyward as his hand went up, its long raven hair spinning wildly as the head landed with a grotesque 'splat' on the gravel. He grimaced. The sting in his shoulder throbbed unmercifully. He turned back to the group just as the several fiends charged forward, backing away again at his powerful swings.

Sam took a breath. "Come on!" he provoked. In the dark, in the shadows, it was difficult to see his assailants. Calculation was mandatory. Every second was precious. Every second there was to stall. Whatever it took before his brother arrived. Any second now his back up would come.

Stealthily, a male vamp in cowboy attire and a brown leather jacket climbed atop the Impala, took position, and pounced.

Surprise hit Sam like a battering ram, the weight of the creature pushing him to the ground. Attached to his back, the fiend and he rolled amongst the gravel and turf. Adorning several new cuts and abrasions, the vamp swiped a clammy fist across his face. Now in a daze, Sam awkwardly swung the machete accidentally cleaving off the once-human hands.

A smile flourished across his bleeding lips at the vamp's pained cry. Excitement among other elating feelings ignited at the creature's anguish. Tightening his grip, he made another slice in the air lopping off the man's head.

The rest of the venomous pack curled their lips in anger. The blonde female charged, kicking the machete out of his hands causing the blade to skid far along the scraggly rocks. She made another kick ramming the heel of her boot into the side of his head. A blinding white-hot pain exploded and he clasped his hand over his eyes, struggling to overcome the temporary blindness.

Something strong wrapped around his ankle and then began to drag him away at a fast pace. Rocks and stray twigs scraped all along his back tearing at his skin. A pained cry escaped past his lips and he opened his watery eyes. Digging his hands into the dirt coming to a stop, he forcefully kicked the vamp off, afterward quickly staggering back to his full height. A quick glimpse around and he knew he was far from the Impala, now in a clearing somewhere in the eerie woods.

War cries and primitive caterwauls from the vamps sounded all around. Adrenaline pumped a mile a minute springing him to action. Dodging the two male vamps to the left, he curled his fist tight and thrust it upwards into a mouth, quickly receding and throwing it into another vamp's gut.

His hands and combat skills were his only weapon now.

Harsh pants and sounds of crushing bones was all that was heard in the small parking space. Sam threw out every punch, kick, and fight tactic he knew. Taking on a flock with now four left was a feat. He maneuvered a male into a headlock giving it a sharp twist, which was followed by a loud reverberating crack. His exhilaration for the fight crescendoed, giving him a high, and eager for another fix.

Every punch, there was a screech. Every kick, there was a hiss. Sam seemed to be winning, having knocked most of them down. But, however much pain the fiends endured, they would not abandon their endeavor. One after the other creepily clambered back to their feet ready to spring.

Sam stood his ground, eyeing the four with inconceivable hatred. There was a time before where he'd probably accept the vamp's action, critically analyze their motivation. But now he understood there was no time for that. It was a classic survival ordeal: Kill or be killed.

His fist tightened. Death wasn't an option today.

He stepped forward ready to deliver more pain, to give these beasts a run for their money. Movement alerted his attention to the left, where three more came out of the clearing. What was this, a vampire convention? How many more were there? He shook his head, focusing his attention.

Then suddenly a gunshot echoed.

Everything stood still, paralyzed. Except for the vampires, all of who jumped backwards in surprise.

Shock pulsed through Sam's chest in that moment. It felt like a million lightning bolts striking as a fire, hell-bent and torturous, tore through the muscle, leaving a wet and angry aftermath. The throb beneath his bite spread outward, the newly created hole in his shoulder spurting out a trickle of blood. Then there was a terrible burning and twisting; an excruciating pain he could only associate with gunshots. Dizziness assaulted him and his feet tripped.

Grasping the back of his shoulder, Sam slowly turned and saw a man. Maybe a vampire? Maybe a hunter? It was hard to tell. The man adorned in black leather stood poised, wisps of smoke issuing from the barrel of a .45, his face obscured in shadow.

"Who—" Sam barely gasped.

"Sorry man, but this is my redemption," the man said.

His face was still dark, but Sam could tell he was young with the way he held himself and the high volume of his voice. But the way he was poised with the gun, it was clear he was a hunter. And then it became crystal clear as to why the vampires were there. This was a tactical assault, a very well planned out hit and run.

Sam huffed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the female vamp become ecstatic, her body in near convulsions. The exuding blood was driving her, along with the rest of the vamp posse, crazy. He took a step back feeling rather vulnerable. Wounded, weaponless, and out in the open were not favorable odds. He was really beginning to wonder just where in the _Hell_ was his brother.

He glanced back and saw the hunter gone. _Not surprising._ Tricky cowardly bastard. Of course, try to blame a death on something supernatural, so that the trail would not lead to murder. Sam had to admit, it was sneaky.

With the odds against him, Sam turned to run. He hadn't made it far when simultaneously all the vamps leapt up in the air. A couple hundred tons it felt fell on top of his back, sprawling him to the ground. And there the monsters began to tear, rip, scratch, and beat. Sam rolled and thrashed, yelled, and fought. But it was no use. There were too many, thus he was overpowered.

The female flung her head back and sunk her second set of teeth deeply into his side. A loud pained howl was heard from his own mouth. Blood oozed steadily from the punctured holes, the vamp lapping it up like a dehydrated dog before sinking her teeth in yet again past the fabric of his gray t-shirt.

Power, energy was draining quickly. He rolled fiercely again onto his back desperately attempting to crawl away. The vamps all dug their dirty ivory nails into his flesh, securing him in place. One by one, each bit down, ripping and tearing like ferocious dogs.

The sharp, needle-like pains evoked strong pained wails. Sam struggled, attempting to fight them off, kicking and swinging his giant limbs. His attackers bit down again, sucking hard. The dizziness from earlier escalated, a blurry film coalescing behind his green eyes. A rapid chill fell upon his skin, falling deep settling into his bones and core. The life was literally being sucked out of him. It was ironic that he would die again by another supernatural creature. More so, it was ironic that the vamps actually liked his demon blood.

The will to fight anymore was lost. The fire that was his rage slowly began to wane. No longer was there any hate, or anger, or heated feeling. Slowly replacing it was a cold and icy rain, fear and paranoia. His six-year-old persona taking hold, scared and lonely wanting the protection of his big brother and father. He didn't want to die again.

Soon his body surrendered to the shivers and the shakes and his eyes felt heavy. The phone buzzed in his pocket, giving off a funny sensation. But he had no energy or will to fight the fiends off for it. It shocked him. He knew it was his brother. It had to be his brother.

The vampires bit down in more spots, scraping, and scratching at his tough skin. It was nearly over, for now he was entirely numb.

The phone buzzed a second time. The more it vibrated, his rapidly paling lips curled into a smile. It was Dean. He was coming.

His brother was coming.

That was his final thought as he allowed the darkness to take him.

**So, more limp. How was it? Okay! Horrible! Let me know! The next chapter will be up in the next couple of days, probably sooner! Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there! Sorry it took so long, but I have three tests to deal with this week. One down, two more to go. So I'll do what I can. Hope this appeasing you! Enjoy!**

_**Part 2: A Whole Round of Suckers…Dead!**_

The overwhelming need to go was excruciating. Standing in a line full of heavy-set biker boys, Dean was nearly hopping. The three bottles of beer and five Yajerbombs went through quick, much like drinking a Long Island Ice Tea. It took all he had to not hold himself. Many grown men, like himself, waited, kicking their feet, bouncing their heads off the walls, waiting on the next occupant to leave.

It had been his decision to wait. He didn't think there would have been a wait this long. But now, he was inwardly cursing himself. Hating to be in this situation, Dean thought it was rather inconvenient for the crappy bar to have just one crappy restroom. Sam was probably in the car cursing a whole bunch, grumbling about how long does it take to go to the head.

He turned around and saw the mile long line behind him, huffing in sheer discontent. He hadn't been standing in this line for five minutes, and already he was wondering just how irritating his brother was going to be after having to wait. The Sammy-huffs and endless complaints ran amuck through his head.

The creaky door opened and out came another heavy-set guy, with one matching in appearance entering the small quarters. Dean groaned. One down. _Ten_ more to go.

Another two minutes went by, and the door had yet to open again. Many of the men whined, emitting several squalls that Dean didn't think a person was capable of. Then soon a needle-like throb pulsed and it was then he said, "Screw it." He wasn't waiting anymore. His bladder was at the point of bursting like an overfilled waterballoon, and he surely wasn't in any mood with dealing with a whiny and pissy Sammy. There had been a lot of things, worrisome and others, on the guy's mind. And so his little brother was prone to short tempered fits, casually raving like an ill-mannered lunatic. Something like this was bound to set him off again, and Hells Bells if he was going to deal with it.

Stepping out into the warm muggy air, he ventured towards the back of the shack, searching for any kind of bush or tree. Over yonder was the outline of the woods. They looked real appealing for a pit-stop. He made his way over to a large Spruce Pine. Dark and otherwise inconspicuous, he went ahead and did his business, feeling heavily relieved afterwards.

Finishing up, he wheeled around and…

_Flash._

A quick glimpse of someone lifting a finger to his head and…

_Flash_.

A hazy white light exploded in his eyes, blinding him.

_Another flash._

It was cold.

In the next second, Dean couldn't describe what was happening or how he was feeling. Dizziness certainly was one of them. His mind spun uncontrollably and all he wanted to do was keep his eyes clenched shut. Then he felt weightless, almost like he was floating. A queasy feeling settled in his stomach the more he became aware of the sensation. His throat muscle worked overtime to keep the half-digested contents down. Ruby red light lit up his eyelids as a warm bright fluorescence lit all around him.

Struggling, he opened his eyes.

The quick camera-like flashes took a toll on his corneas. It took a long moment for him to adjust to the over-indulgent white light surrounding him. His surroundings were hazy, blank. Mainly empty. _Empty_… Where was he?

The dizziness soon passed. Dean blinked several times, overcoming his bearings. Whatever had just happened to him, it couldn't have meant anything good? He tried to move. But an unnatural heaviness bore into his limbs keeping him immobile. He raised his head, struggling as the heaviness spread up through his neck. And what he could barely see, it made his blood boil.

The queasy feeling was gone. The heaviness slowly began to lift. Consciousness quickly began to come back, and now he was pissed.

One, he was naked.

Not like half naked where there's a drape involved. More like full frontal.

And two, his wrists were bound.

_Bound by what?_ He couldn't tell.

The material was neither material, nor immaterial. He couldn't describe it. A translucent piece of heavenly (or Hellish) whatever—looking a lot like transparent cotton—wrapped around his wrists. It surely wasn't cotton. Pulling with all his might, the damn things would not break. Wiggling within his confines, it was then his attention was brought to what he was lying on. It wasn't a table, nor was it a bed. Kinda like a billowy mass of clouds clumped together forming a pedestal.

Now you talk about weird.

His thoughts went back to the glimpse of the man who put him here. It happened so fast, nothing but a black suit would form. Was he dealing with another angel? Was he in some kind of angel prison? If not, then what the hell? Why was he here?

"Hello!" he called, only for his own echo to rebound.

Okay, so he was definitely in some place. He looked all around, and it was still empty. No one. Nothing. Zip. Just him on his pedestal.

But why the nakedness? That really struck the inquisitive side of him. He had better not be a trapped victim of some succubus or hormonal witch. Or something of the like. They wouldn't like him in the morning. But it was a man he saw. He was most certain of that. Ugh! That queasy feeling was back.

Forcefully forgetting that thought, he thought back to how he or she transported him here. Was he tranqed? Did they do some sort of Vulcan neckpinch? Blindfolded him and now he was in some interrogation room? What? It only seemed like it just happened. How long had he been here?

A million other thoughts raced in Dean's head for the next few minutes like his own Kentucky Derby. Most of them were not pleasant. The disturbing one of that this might be of some angelic assistance taking the lead. Other than that, he was stumped as to how he was captured. It was so quick. There was no time to reconsider anything else.

He pulled at his binds again, and they shrunk, causing tight painful pinches against his skin. A deep growl erupted. This was severely pissing him off. What the hell was going on? You'd think whoever had the nerve to hold him prisoner would show up and explain a few things. Was that so hard?

Hopefully if he had been here a while, he'd have a brother who would be looking for him. _Here's hoping_, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He only prayed these jerks hadn't had done something to Sam. God help them if they did.

Loud noises and a big commotion sounded. It echoed all around the grand room or place or whatever he was in. Cries. Thuds. Thunder followed by a tremulous clatter.

Something was happening.

A loud boom occurred. The only time he could recollect hearing that, he or his brother was thrown into a wall. A pulsing flash shot through, followed by another one. Dean's heart hammered painfully against his ribcage, eager to see, to hear, to understand what in God's name was happening.

Then as if in an imagined dream sequence, the room began to change. The bright white color began to swirl, its fluorescence dying to beige. Dean glanced all around, somewhat nervous as the room began to darken. Another noise turned his attention to the right, and suddenly a familiar figure in a trenchcoat entered.

"Cass?" Dean called out hopefully.

The angel swung Lucifer's blade in his hand downward, ruby blood flying off and leaving a trail. The tiny man charged forward with a stern, yet determined expression. Dean couldn't help but notice the various tears and holes in his attire, and the slightly bruised cheek.

"We need to go," Cass said in his deep powerful tone.

"No shit!" Dean exclaimed, "What the hell's going on?"

"They found you. We need to get you and Sam out of here, out of Louisiana. Whoa…" the angel stopped, his eyes widening at Dean's naked body.

Dean scowled. "Shut up and cut me loose."

Without a word Cass does so with two graceful strokes, severing the cloudy binds. Dean hopped down from his mount, messaging his wrists. Cass glanced at the way he came in, looking up and down.

"Come," he lifted his two fingers.

"Whoa wait," Dean dodged them. "What happened to my clothes? Where're my clothes?"

Cass huffed. "There's no time to deal with that right now."

"Make time! I am not getting _zapped_ back to the parking lot in the middle of some hick town in nothing but my birthday suit!" Dean protested. "My brother would never let me live that down."

"Fine." Cass rolled his eyes. He pressed his two fingers to Dean's head anyway. The two popped back into existence in the middle of the gravel parking space at the front of the bar.

In horror, Dean looked down ready to cover any and everything. But was relieved to find himself back in his holey jeans, boots, and leather jacket. He rounded on his angelic savior. "Don't you ever scare me like that again! Now if we were in a crowded joint full of ladies, no problem. But here, no!"

"We need to go. Once they know you're gone, they'll come looking again." The angel was being downright serious.

Dean eyed him with intrigue. "Well wait just a minute. What the hell just happened? How'd I get to…wherever I just was?"

"It was Zachariah," Cass answered glancing around. "He found you and brought you there. Hoping to keep you til you were ready to give consent."

Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes. "That guy just won't quit, will he? I really hate that…that…angel." He said, unable to come up with a decent insult for the righteous pain-in-the-ass. He then too stole a glance around, burying his hands into his jacket to retrieve his phone. "Okay, that leaves the question where exactly was _there_?"

"One of their holding cells."

"Holding cells? Like some sort of Angelic Prison?"

"Yes."

"So like you were in there at some point?" Dean asked. scrolling through the contents in his phone to find his brother, not bothering to hear Cass's answer. He began heading towards the Impala, Castiel hot on his heels. "Sam might be gone already. He's probably out looking for me. How long was I gone?

"Just a few minutes."

Dean stopped and peered at his friend in stunned amazement. He was expecting days. "Wow, you're good."

"I had heard some news on the circuit that Zachariah was going to try something. And it involved you and Sam. He and I arrived approximately at the same time. So I followed him," Cass informed.

"Uh huh, so why was I nude?" Dean asked, curious about that part of his kidnapping.

Castiel fell silent. He raised an eyebrow, donning a blank expression. "That escapes me."

The angel's evasive answer wasn't entirely coveted. "Ugh," Dean grimaced, refusing to think about that particular aspect ever again. "Come on you lousy piece of wireless crap," he snapped at his phone, raising it up in the air, searching for a signal. He needed to contact Sam, to let him know he was all right. "I'm going to shoot that Verizon guy!"

They rounded the corner of the bar and saw his car off in the distance. The absence of headlights and wispy vapor from the exhaust instantly alerted him something was wrong. Unadulterated dread shredded through Dean's heart and he broke out into a run. Then something happened that made his heart stop cold.

There was a gunshot.

His feet propelled faster, gaining a good yard a second. The closer the two ranged to the car, Dean saw the trunk open and large objects lying on the ground. Skidding along the tiny rocks, his stomach literally jumped up his throat at seeing the severed heads and bloody bodies.

In desperation, Dean looked at the phone, seeing there was at least a bar of signal. He dialed Sam's number. Castiel bent down and examined the bodies.

Dean cursed at getting Sam's voicemail.

He dialed again.

And again.

And again.

And still his brother had not answered.

"Dean, look," Cass called, pulling back the lip off a dark haired guy's head.

One look at the pointy fangs and Dean hauled ass. Pure fear and protective instinct kicked into gear. Using his trained eyes, even in the swelling darkness, he quickly analyzed the ground, seeing a faint trail of tracks. He said nothing, only kept his eyes peeled. There was no sign of the suspected gunsman. But then it could have been his brother shooting.

Noise. Faints of growls, resembling starved animals was heard up ahead. Quickly Dean pulled out his magnum from his back pocket, and clicked it into place. Adrenaline fueled his feet to move faster, fear for his brother feeding into his adrenaline. He ran straight into the woods, following the tracks, following them into a vast clearing, into a large space.

Running around a grove of stick-thin trees, his feet skidded to a halt once again. His stomach flipped, heralding devastation in its greatest form. An entire group of vampires all huddled together, feasting on something on the ground. A glint to the side drew his attention and he saw a machete.

Upon seeing the mahogany hilt, he recognized that it wasn't just any machete.

It was his _brother's_ machete.

_Sam's_.

And that only meant one thing.

"SAMMY!" Dean cried out long and hard.

All the vamps heads shot up revealing his brother's heap on the ground, dark liquid dripping from their mouths and chins. Their animalistic eyes gleamed with the moonlight, satiated over their meal. Dean's fear suddenly morphed into a blazing fury, hell-bent, and dangerous. He raised his magnum and emptied an entire cartridge, charging forward.

The vampires all jumped up, hissing, flexing out their hands. Dean continued to run ahead, yelling. Committing a baseball player's slide, he slid along the ground and scooped up the fallen machete. Bouncing back up, he stood at the ready.

Out the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam on the ground, unmoving. He was pale and covered in bloodstains and bites. The very image added kerosene to the growing fire. These sons of bitches tried to eat his brother. That's murder one. And it's punishment time.

Rustling movement alerted his attention back over to Sam. Castiel had come and was kneeling by the brute's side. The angel picked up Sam's head. It hung loosely, lolling helplessly and it made him far angrier.

The vampires all circled him. They smiled, red blood oozing between their teeth and down their lips. _Apparently_ they had it in their undead minds they found dessert. Dean returned a smug smile too. _Apparently_ he had it in his mind, these shits didn't know who they were dealing with.

It was all over before any of the vampires could sense it coming.

Dean stepped forward and it was then they all pounced at their prey. Overcome with hate and anger, revenge for the hostility shown on his sibling, every ounce was poured into each death-defining stroke. In one quick slice, a head and a hand were lopped off. In another, a throat was slit.

He rushed forward, plowing the edge of the blade straight into a male's neck. The fiend screeched in pain, red eyes glowing with surprise and fear. He yanked out the machete, taking a chunk of the man's head with it. The other vampires hissed and hollered at the brutality. Some high-tailed it, springing like monkeys into the trees.

Dean glowered at the rest. With careful precision, he quickly analyzed and calculated every move. And in three to four skillful maneuvers, the rest of the vampire gang was down and out for the count. Each body fell to the ground like a heavy sack. Torrents of dead blood spurted and flowed in a pool, staining the dark ground.

A gush of hot air escaped past Dean's lips, cooling off his heightened wrath. Admiring his handiwork, it gave him great pleasure to see the vamps dead. He dropped the machete; the metal clanging once it hit the deadened earth. Remembering the reason behind his temporary insanity, he ran back over to his brother.

"Sammy! Sammy!" he cried.

Sliding along the ground again, Dean called Sam's name several times. The dread creeping in his heart flared noting the red freckles painted all over Sam's pale face, and the flaccid features. "Cass?"

The angel never lifted his hardened gaze from the motionless body before him. "He's alive…but barely. I think we got here in time."

Dean soughed, a mix between relief and excruciating worry.

"Let's go," Cass said standing up, partly lifting Sam's limp body with him. "We need to get him out of here, or he's not going to make it."

Helping by lifting Sam's legs, whilst the angel managed his brother's upper body, Dean raised his grief-stricken gaze unto Castiel's. "Then do it. Get us out of here Cass."

Cass nodded, and in a blink, they all vanished.

**So… was it somewhat surprising? Sammy saved (barely), and Dean weirded out by an Angel. I don't know, I think it's my worst one yet. But I hope you guys liked it. There will be an epilogue, just to tie up some loose ends. Sam and Dean need to talk. It should be up hopefully tomorrow. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay, had computer issues. But we're good now. Sooo, it turned out everybody liked naked Dean. Yeah I totally did that just for a reaction. So far, I'm loving it! You guys are really funny! Well, here it is. The final installment to this very short piece. Cheers!**

_**Epilogue:**_

For sure Sam thought he was dead. Nothing else made sense. He'd been dead before. Besides being entirely numb, it was dark. It was silent. And he felt like he was floating adrift. What else was there to be concluded?

He wasn't going to lie. Being dead wasn't totally a bad thing, and it was a state he welcomed. He was almost convinced that truly witnessing daylight again wasn't an option. Until like a spark, one by one, his senses began to come back in full throttle, and then he knew it was a trick. A mere ploy his mind played to think he achieved his desire. Awkwardly awareness seeped in plunging him back into reality. Back to the pain; the noise. Back into the very existence he dreaded.

Hearing a monotonous beep sound off repeatedly, it invoked a groan on his part, alerting whomever—_or whatever_— in the current surroundings he was waking up.

At first opening his eyes was an arduous task as his lids felt like he was lifting a ton of bricks. But soon the task became easier once he was fully awake. He opened them to complete white. Or it was white until everything else in focus dimmed, and it was then he realized he was staring at a tiled ceiling.

A very clean ceiling, with plastic trimwork.

That invoked another groan. The absent patches and/or missing stains from water damage from the typical motel setting only meant one thing. The annoying beeping in the backdrop also helped led to his conjecture. He was in some type of medical facility, or God-forbid a hospital.

"About damn time you woke up," a hard voice said.

A small smile was brought to Sam's lips upon recognizing the familiar rough tone. Slowly his head inched to the side and there he saw his brother sitting in a plastic chair with a dozen or so magazines piled on the small bedside table. And knowing his brother, they probably were mostly adult oriented. Sam said nothing, but returned a vivid stare giving Dean the 'I'm beat, but I'm okay' signal.

Dean took the hint. "Seriously dude. Nearly going stir-crazy here. I was about to make a split personality so I can have someone to talk to."

That comment forced yet another smile to cross Sam's lips. He took a deep breath, working his over-dried throat muscles. "Hey," he croaked.

"Hey yourself. How ya feeling?" Dean asked, leaning closer to the bedside.

Sam half shrugged, "Should you ask? I feel like roadkill."

"Eh well…you came pretty close to it."

"Don't remind me." Sam wheezed, lifting his hands, noting the weighed pin-like feeling tingling in his fingers. "I'm tired," he replied, squeezing and flexing his fists, "My hands hurt."

"Hmmm yeah, that's not all that's going to be hurting," Dean forewarned. "Docs say after the several pints they had to fill ya back up on, a lot of things are going to be hurting. So keep flexing, that'll help," he said with a grin.

"Where are we?"

"A clinic close to Bobby's. He just went home a few hours ago."

"How long have I been here?"

"About five or six days. You just love scaring me to death, don't cha? Cass and I found ya and we brought you here. You developed a fever a few days back and it only just broke last night," Dean explained messaging the back of his head, "But you know, you're cool now so…we're all good!"

Sam huffed, understanding what this carefree, optimistic attitude was all about. Apparently at some point the medical authorities weren't too optimistic about his chances and Dean had suffered a great deal from the threat of loss. Sam was slightly glad he was asleep during the supposed ordeal. Nobody within a two-mile radius would have been safe at that time. Only until things began to start looking up did the "Everything's bright and sunny on the outside, and dark and scared on the inside" act take the stage. He remembered all too well when he went through it during Dean's stay in the hospital after their wreck with the Semi.

"So what's our story?" Sam asked, barely able to produce more than a loud whisper.

Dean partly laughed. "A pack of wild dogs," he laughed again at Sam's puzzled look, "I know. For a while I didn't think the docs were going to buy it…but they did. But then you weren't too far off from looking like a piece of beef jerky. They gave you the whole-nine treatment and everything. Rabies included." He chuckled some more.

"Rabies? Ugh…" Sam moaned, "…wonderful. Explains the nausea." He closed his eyes briefly after a tire spell befell him. Then he heard a long-winded exhale and knew what was coming.

"Uh Sammy, what exactly happened with you?" Dean barely whispered. From the edge that came with it, it was obvious he was eager for some intel.

Sam took another deep breath before answering. "Vamps got the jump on me. A whole nest. They came out of nowhere. I almost had em'—"

"—but then someone showed up!"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Shot me too…I think it might have been a hunter Dean."

Then the serious dark expression Sam knew so well flourished across his brother's face. Sam also knew that he was about to hear something he really didn't want to. "He wasn't a hunter," Dean informed.

"Then what was he? How do you know?" Sam asked, his scratchy voice climbing up an octave.

Dean shook his head. "It was some guy. Some random guy." A shiny glint lit up in his eye. Sam silently held his breath knowing that look. It meant that Dean tracked the man down.

"There's more to it, isn't there Dean? You went after him didn't you?"

Now the big brother looked away, clearly meaning 'yes'. Sam wasn't entirely surprised. Hell, if the situation had been in reverse, he'd had done the same thing. Dean turned back to face him.

"I hate it when you know me so well. Yeah, we went after him. Me and Cass," he sighed. "The docs found the bullethole under your left shoulderblade. That's kinda when I knew there was another player. We got back and that's when I heard the gunshot go off…"

"Whoa…what do you mean 'got back'? I thought you were in the bar. Where were you?"

"Yeah," Dean laughed again, "I was held up somewhere. You don't want to know. Let's just say Zach had something to do with it. But luckily Cass showed up, and hauled my ass back to you. We got there just in time."

Sam fell silent again, listening more to what Dean had to say.

"Anyway, some of the vamps that got away, Cass and I tracked them down and eventually we got a name of the guy who led them to you," Dean looked away to the side, tears beginning to well up. "I'm sorry Sammy, but the docs weren't giving too much hope for you…and I…and I…I had to know why. So yeah, we hunted him down."

"It's okay Dean," Sam consoled. "What happened?"

Dean smirked. "Well we found him. Cass helped a lot. Did one of his Jedi mind tricks on the unlucky bastard and we got an answer out of him. And…he was just a regular guy. He made a deal with Zach, and I'm guessing the bastard set him up with some vampires and he came after you. So…we gave him a basic ass-whooping and called it a day."

Sam stayed silent, and merely nodded in response. He didn't have to be the little brother to know from the sarcastic grin that there was more to the tale. But knowing his brother, Dean would keep the gruesome parts all to himself. So he didn't press.

Little did Sam know that while he was holed up in the small clinic with Bobby taking watch, Cass and Dean had tracked down the hired assassin. With the information strangled out of one of the surviving bloodsuckers, it led them to a Gary Hunley. Ex-con, and repeat offender, Hunley was recently incarcerated for child molestation. Having broken out of prison as he put it "from divine assistance", the man came clean stating he was doing God's work based on the voices in his head instructing him to do so.

It didn't take long for Dean and Cass to find the bastard and put him through their own interrogation and treatment. The molester spilled the beans about a man coming to him—

stating he was a messenger from God—and that he would help keep the cops off his trail, if he agreed to kill a Sam Winchester. Dean felt no pity in beating the snot to a pulp after catching him spying and trying to break into a house that later he found out where a nine and five-year old lived. Cass showed a little more of his humane side in helping to punish the man. Afterwards, only God and Cass knew what had happened to Hunley. Dean gave the order to the angel to take care of the trash, to which Cass obliged willingly.

"This just goes to show dude, we got to be more careful," Dean continued. "We can't survive another hit like that."

"Yeah you're telling me," Sam breathed, clenching his fist again. He wanted to move, but the acute sensitivity from all the bites made it hard. "But what are we going to do? They're getting desperate Dean. All the signs are in place. Everything is coming to the head, and they don't have their generals. And now they're taking action to make sure either side doesn't get em'."

"No need to say it. But…" Dean sighed again, trying to think of something good and uplifting, "But they're not pulling us down…not yet anyway."

Sam huffed, settling more into his pillow. "Yeah."

"You know stuff like this makes me wonder what other low-life scum are they going to pitch after us?"

Sam laughed. "I'm surprised they didn't up their game. I'm surprised it was just…this."

"But one thing is for sure," Dean grounded out, "the next one that comes, we're not going to have any other choice but to kill them."

Sam bucked back at that. "No. We're not going to kill them."

"No? Why not?" Dean raised an eyebrow, eying his sick brother with intrigue. "The last one served you to a group of hungry vampires. Hello? Who knows what the next one will come up with? We won't have a choice in the matter Sam, because—"

"Because we don't kill people Dean," Sam said sternly. His brother fell silent, his gaze widening, eager for an elaboration. "We don't. I mean, sure we threaten a lot, but we don't do it."

Sam cleared his throat, taking yet another deep breath. A headache brewed, but he was determined to say what he meant. This was important. He had to say something, because it sounded like his brother was rapidly losing faith. And once that happened, then there wouldn't be any hope left…for either of them.

"I guarantee you that he's not the only one whose hit-list we're at the top of. Are we going to go out and seek all the hunters and people who want us dead and kill em? If we do that, then we might as well give in. It wouldn't make us any better than the dicks out there that want this battle. If we do that, then we loose ourselves…loose who we truly are. And that…that is the only thing we have left…our identity." He lost his breath. In his current condition, an emotional speech was not beneficial.

Dean developed a blank stare. "You and you're emo crap."

Sam laughed. "Whatever man."

"I'm just saying, you can write a sonnet with that. That was sweet."

That called for another roll of the eyes. Sam then forced out, "Bite me."

The smile slowly died. A serious, scornful, but other wisely very comical glare marred Dean's face. "Dude. That's so not funny."

"Oh come on, it's a little funny," Sam chuckled a little.

"No, it's not." His brother laughed as well. "I know. You're right. I hate it. But you're absolutely right…but that still doesn't change the fact we gotta be more careful."

"Agreed."

"Okay," Dean stood up. "You need to rest. Docs say you'll hopefully be fine in a week or so. Just keep taking your B12 and Iron pills and you'll be good as new."

Sam fidgeted some more, kicking up his feet. "We can leave now? If you help carry me outta here, I'm sure I'll be fine."

That received the patented Big Brother Mother-Hen stare. Sam almost rolled his eyes again, already annoyed at the oncoming bluster. But it was worth a shot. He absolutely dreaded hospitals. The only time he ever enjoyed coming into one was when he wore a suit and posed as a detective. His brother, however, felt differently.

Dean stared incredulously at the man in the bed. His brother looked as though he was dunked in a bucket of white paint. Reddish patches shown through the myriad of bandages and bandaids covering his entire body. And he appeared as though he wouldn't be able to stand up, much less walk out of there. And he wanted to leave?

"Sam, you were just chowed on by an entire nest of vampires. They had to give you over several pints of blood just to fill you back up again. You look like one of Bobby's dogs' chewtoys. You had a badass fever for the last few days. You can barely move, and _now you want to leave?_ I don't think so," Dean stammered vehemently.

"But I don't want to be here anymore," Sam whined, glancing around at the bland walls, and half-pulled back curtain.

"Well tough. You just woke up and you still look beat to hell. Not to mention all the crap these docs got ya on. Besides, we gotta lot going for us, and we ain't do anything until you're one hundred percent. So you might as well get over it," Dean started walking away, "Get to sleep Sammy, I'll be back. Need to get some caffeine."

"Hey Dean," Sam called, watching Dean whirl in his tracks. Something niggled and wormed its way in his head ever since he woke up, and it became bothersome to the point where he thought he better ask. And it was now, better than never before he forgot. Who else better to share with than the only family member he had in the room. "Do you think since…I don't know, you know?"

"What?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Since practically the vamps nearly sucked me dry. Do you think…that maybe…they got rid of the demon blood?"

"Oh," Dean took a step back. Apparently that hadn't crossed his mind, and the implication of it brought on a whole new perspective. "Uh honestly I don't know. Do you feel any different?"

"It's hard to say right now. I'm still nauseous."

"Oh, well then…I don't know what to tell you about that. Maybe," Dean gave a half-smile, "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be right back. You go back to sleep. I'll see ya when you wake up," Dean said before making his way out the door.

"Okay."

As his brother eagerly left the room in search for coffee, Sam wondered intensely about what he just asked. He looked over deeply pondering if possibly he could've been freed from his fate. Seeing a half glass of water next to the magazines on the bedside table, he concentrated. The glass teetered for a split second, then moved a good distance across the surface. He shrunk back in on himself in disappointment. Guess there was still a little bit of his old blood left.

Guess he was still cursed.

**And there you have it. Not a lot going on with the epilogue, but I hope it covered some of the loose ends. I could've delved more into the details behind the storyline, but I thought it would be better to leave it up to your imagination. Or unless someone else wants to do something more to this story, I wouldn't mind. Make it better, I challenge ya!**


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